Sherlock: Brotherhood
by MissSherlockHieiHolmes
Summary: I wrote this for the Save Undershaw campaign. I wanted to expand on it, but I had a 3,000 word limit. :/


Brothers of Blood and Bond

By Amber Elizabeth Frost

"There are two of you? Bloody Hell, Sherlock! You told me you were just going out for some milk—I should have known you weren't going out for milk. Why did I even believe that? You never do the shopping or any errands for that matter. If it doesn't have to do with a case, you don't care," John exclaimed when Sherlock came into their flat, his hands oddly absent of milk. The fact that John was seeing double didn't exactly help the situation. "I should have known you were up to something. You've been gone for hours, but I just assumed that you were lost because you never go to the grocery!"

Sherlock was calm. The situation had to be dire for the genius to break his usual composed demeanor. "John, calm down. Shouting isn't going to solve anything. Forgive me for not bringing milk." His tone was deep, casual with the never-ending edge of sarcasm. He only took a moment at the door to remove his coat and gloves, taking care to hang the beloved trademark up on a hook before he brought the doppelganger into the main living area of 221B Baker Street. John had spent most of the day attempting to clean up Sherlock's mess. Mrs. Hudson grew increasingly tired of trying to pick up after a grown man and eventually decided she wasn't going to put up with Sherlock's ungrateful behavior. The doctor thought he could keep up with the ever-expanding mess. How silly of him.

"All right, all right. For once, will you please just tell me what's going on? I don't know everything just by looking, so please humor me. Did you learn how to clone yourself? Because the world can only handle one of you," the doctor returned with an equal amount of sarcasm. Sherlock seemed to be oblivious to this as he had his guest sit in John's armchair. This seemed to irritate the doctor just as much as the detective showing up without milk after promising to pick up a carton. For some reason, they went through more than their fair share of milk.

"No, I didn't learn how to clone myself, I'm months away from that," Sherlock replied coolly. To anyone else, this would have been funny or arrogant but to John it was just normal behavior. Sherlock definitely wasn't the common wealth and he wasn't modest about his abilities in the slightest.

"Then who is this? He looks exactly like you and that's not exactly something you find every day, Sherlock."

For a while, the air hung in silence. John was waiting for an answer, but Sherlock wasn't too interesting in talking. Instead, the detective retrieved the very loved first aid kit from the kitchen. The boys seemed to retain injuries on a daily basis. John was too shocked by the sight of two Sherlocks to notice that the second had a large gash across the forehead. Sherlock immediately went to work, cleaning the blood away and washing out the cut with rubbing alcohol. Despite the obvious annoyance with Sherlock's quietness and his confusion, John was instantly worried. He was, after all, a doctor and he helped people who needed medical assistance. Maybe he was even picturing Sherlock as the injured one, since both of the curly hair men looked exactly alike. "Is he all right?"

There were a few more moments of silence while Sherlock tended to his look-alike's cuts and scraps. No serious damage was visible but the man winced when the alcohol swabs ran across open skin. "He'll be fine," Sherlock finally said after John was sure he wasn't going to get any sort of answer. Sherlock seemed like he had fallen into one of his moods where he didn't talk for days on end and Sherlock Number Two didn't seem to have a voice at all.

"All right, good… Brilliant." The awkward atmosphere was thick enough to choke on. Sherlock was working on cleaning a cut on the other man's collar bone and John wanted to get involved, help in whatever way he could, but he knew Sherlock wouldn't allow him to interfere with his work. Several long minutes passed while the doctor waited for an answer to the obvious question suspended in the air. When he didn't get an answer, he repeated himself. "Who is he, Sherlock?" This time, he worked to make sure he sounded calm and interested instead of bewildered and hysterical.

"He's my brother," the taller Brit finally answered but he didn't offer much of an explanation, at least, not until John gave him a very overly dramatic sigh.

"That's not Mycroft."

"Obviously." It wasn't too far beyond the imagination to assume that John was tired of hearing the word uttered from his flatmate's lips. "He's my twin brother, a few minutes younger than me." Twins were considered the same age, but one had to come before the other. As far as Sherlock was concerned, he was the older brother and he wouldn't allow himself to be anything like Mycroft. There weren't many people Sherlock cared so deeply about, but his twin brother was extremely important to him.

The look the doctor wore said that he was relieved to finally get some sort of answer from his flatmate but what did he mean this man was his twin brother? The answer was logical. How else could someone look like an exact copy? But how could Sherlock have a twin that John never knew about? Everything he had ever learned about the detective said that he was the younger brother of Mycroft Holmes and that Mycroft was his only brother. "Sherlock," the shorter Brit muttered, crossing his arms over his chest to emphasize the fact that he wanted more information.

A sigh radiated through the room followed by Sherlock mumbling something to his twin. The Other Sherlock nodded a little. The only feature that distinguished the brothers was their eyes. Sherlock's were deep and full of wisdom. The Other Sherlock's were youthful and childlike.

"Come with me, John," Sherlock said once he was standing with his back to his twin. He walked into his bedroom and waited for John to follow after him. Once they were both inside the overly organized room (John couldn't help but be a little angry with the fact that the same person who kept his bedroom so tidy made a mess of the rest of the flat), the curly haired detective shut the door.

Before John could even get a word of his interrogation out, Sherlock was predicting every single one of his questions. "You want to know why I never told you about him. You want to know why I lied about going to get milk. You want to know why I brought him here without warning you."

"Well by all means, Sherlock, since you can bloody read my mind, you might as well start answering my questions! You brought him to our flat, so whatever is going on, you've already involved me in it!" Usually John was very good at handling pressure, but the shock of seeing two of his best friend left him baffled. "So explain this! Why did you keep him a secret from me? You know, it's really just not fair that you know everything about my life just by looking at me, but you don't tell a bloody thing about yours!"

"Are you going to let me talk or are you just going to continue yelling at me?" Sherlock asked, clearly irritated and anyone who knew him very well could tell that he was exhausted. As far as John knew, he hadn't slept in days and now he looked like he could just crash to the floor and sleep wherever he landed.

"Sorry, go ahead… I want some answers."

"That really is my twin brother. His name is Leonardo." Sherlock could easily tell by the face John made that he thought his parents' taste in names was horrible but Hamish wasn't such a great name either. "I don't talk about him because I feel too guilty." An arch formed in John's right eyebrow. "Yes, it's possible for me to feel guilty. I divide my emotions from my work but that doesn't mean that I don't have emotions." Sherlock turned his back to his friend and leaned against the frame of his window, watching the street below their beloved flat. "When we went to university, we shared a dormitory. We were rather close throughout our childhood, very typical twin behavior only we were far more intelligent than the average set of twins, obviously… Anyway, we were working on a joined thesis for a chemistry class and we needed to do some research in the lab on the far end of the campus. He wanted to go early and get started first thing in the morning and I wanted to finish a personal project before we went so we agreed that I would meet him once I was finished.

"My project took me a little while longer than I expected and when I finally got to the lab, Leo wasn't there. I assumed that he just got tired of doing the work by himself and left but when I got back to our dorm, I got a call from Mycroft. He was in the emergency room with my mother. On his walk to the lab, a car hit Leo. The driver was just an average college kid, driving back to him dormitory after attending a party that lasted all night. He was hung over, driving too fast. He didn't see Leo until it was too late. That accident put him in a coma for a few years. The chances for him to wake up and make a full recovery were slim and next to none but we decided to leave him on life support. He woke up a few months before you and I moved in here but he doesn't remember anything about his life before the accident. He has absolutely no idea who he is and I've done everything I can think of to help him. Nothing works."

"Okay… So you don't talk about him because you feel guilty. I understand that much. You feel like it should have been you or that if it happened to him, it should have happened to you too because you were supposed to be with him. Fine, it's natural to feel that way even though what happened is not your fault… However, none of that really explains what is going on right now," John said but his tone dropped from confused and demanding. The doctor had seen a lot of different sides of Sherlock Holmes but this was brand new. Sentiment. Grieving. Guilt. Love. All of these traits were words Dr. Watson would never use to describe Sherlock. This was making him see the younger man in a whole new light.

A cab drove by on the street below. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it, but Sherlock's gaze bore into it intently. His frame was rigid, tense and John couldn't help but feel sorry for the genius. It was hard to see such a strong man crumbling before him, especially since this man was his best friend. "Sherlock, please, I'm your friend… You can talk to me about anything," the older whispered to his companion. "You know that."

"He's been living with my mother. I go to see him when I can but it doesn't seem like his memory is going to come back. He's still as brilliant as ever though. Right now he's kind of like a child genius in a grown man's body," the younger whispered, his breathe fanning across the windowpane, leaving fog across the cool surface. "I did my best to keep him a secret, not just from you but from everyone—" Sherlock cut into John asking why. He already knew the shorter man wanted more of an explanation. "It's not because I feel guilty. My feelings of guilt are irrational and I know that. I wanted to keep him a secret because my enemies could use him against me. Moriarty could use him against me."

"So what happened to him? You brought him in and he was bleeding. Something happened and that's why you left earlier, to go and save him," John concluded but he was still expecting the rest of his questions answered.

Finally, the taller turned to face John. The look on his face was grim and for once his paleness made him look phantom-like and ill. This wasn't his natural tone. Something terrible was in the making. "Moriarty found out about him. One of his henchmen, Moran if I'm not mistaken, killed my mother and took him. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what they were going to do with him, but they weren't using him to draw me out. I think they wanted to use his intellect to their advantage, turn him into another Moriarty. I couldn't let that happen. I had to go and save him. He's my little brother." Sherlock had absolutely no intentions of elaborating on how he knew where Moriarty took Leo or even how he knew about the situation at all.

"Okay… Well… You saved him right? I know he's still having trouble with his memories and everything, but he's safe. So why do you look like the end of the world is tomorrow? Because your mother died?" John whispered, slowly approaching his friend. When it came to physical comfort, John usually only offered a pat on the shoulder but maybe Sherlock would need more than that now. His cheeks were hollowed; his skin ashen gray and his eyes were haunted. Haunted with what was still a mystery.

"No, it's not my mother. It sounds awful, but her death hasn't upset me too much. I wasn't, exactly, her favorite son. Very shocking, isn't it?" His tone was almost back to that anticipated sarcasm, but it wasn't the tone John came to know as normal. "No, John… Moriarty is coming. I can't tell you when, but he is coming and I am afraid for all of us."

"You always knew that he was—" The slightest shake of the detective's head brought the doctor to a halt. "Sherlock?"

A misty, almost desperate look passed over Sherlock's gray eyes and his gaze fell to his shoes. "I killed Moran, John…. I didn't have any other choice. I went to save Leo and I just wasn't strong enough to fight Moran one on one. He was going to lock me up. What would have happened to the world if I were locked in some cage while Moriarty ran wild with another man just as brilliant as him? With Leo, he could mold him to be whatever he wanted and if I had been captured there wouldn't be anyone to stop him. They probably would have killed me…" That was the moment John saw the tremor in Sherlock's right arm. "I shot him to get to my brother."

"He was a bad man, Sherlock."

This earned a glare. "What makes you think I regret killing him?" Apparently the most observant man in the world failed to notice his own quivering. Even Sherlock Holmes could grow emotionally distressed. Instead of announcing it, John simply took Sherlock's shaking hand in his. This merely brought a sigh from the man's shapely lips and a grieving look to pass through his eyes. "Everyone assumes that I could kill someone because I get so bored so easily. This just proves how much it truly torments me." It wasn't unreasonable to believe that the common negative opinion of Sherlock's character eventually began to ware at the man's hidden feelings.

"We can talk about it? It might make you feel better? You know I'm here for you. Always," the elder whispered, giving his friend's hand a firm squeeze.

For a while, Sherlock stood in silence, holding his friend's hand like it was the last thing he would ever do. John's intentions were only to help him and, for once, he actually understood the gesture and accepted it but talking about his feelings was not easily accomplished. One set of gray eyes rested on their interlocking hands while a set of clear blue gazed up at a face full of anguish. It was actually painful to see his friend in such a state and as much as he wanted Sherlock to talk to him, he simply allowed the man to hold his hand. He would open up when he was ready. In fact, he had already opened up quite a lot considering the source.

"We can talk later, John. For now I need to make sure my brother is all right and inform Scotland Yard of the situation. We have to be prepared for Moriarty because now he has absolutely nothing to lose. Moran was like what you are to me and now that I've killed him… Well, it's not a game anymore. It's personal," Sherlock explained, finally dropping the man's hand. He needed to tend to his brother.

Just as he turned the doorknob, John turned to him. "One more question… You know I will help in any way I can. I'm with you all the way and when Moriarty comes, I'll still be here for you and for your brother."

"Your question then?"

"What, exactly, am I to you? You said Moran played the same role I play. What is it?" John muttered, so quietly he wasn't even sure that Sherlock heard it.

"My only friend, the only person who remotely understands me and the person who keeps me from completely diving off the deep end." Anyone could tell that it was hard for Sherlock to say such things. Sherlock turned back to John for just a moment, respect and fondness replacing the grief for a moment. "The only person who matters."


End file.
